“Was that a compliment or an insult?”
“I’m not quite certain,” she replied honestly. “Alex, we’ve discussed this. I am not going to marry you. I am flattered by your offer, and I…like you very much. I respect and admire you, and I know we have a certain…”
“Mutual passion?” he offered helpfully.
“Affinity,” she stated primly. “But we simply will not suit.”
Alex pulled a chair out from the table. “Sit down.”
“No, thank you. I’m perfectly comfortable as I am.” She wasn’t the least bit comfortable. She was tired and sore, and she had run out of candles to light, but he was telling her what to do again.
“Sophie, please, have a seat. I am exhausted, but good manners dictate I not sit in a lady’s presence while she is yet standing.”
She wasn’t entirely sure she believed that, but at least he was trying.
She took the proffered chair and watched as he pulled out another and turned it to face her. Sitting down, he leaned forward and captured her hands in his.
“Sophie,” he started gravely. “We disappeared, at night, from a house party attended by half the ton. We have since spent two full days and nights together, alone. Surely it has occurred to you that you have been compromised?”
Sophie paled. “I hadn’t…” She swallowed hard. “With everything else, I hadn’t given it any thought.”
“I’m sorry.”
She pulled her hands from his and crossed the room in a futile effort to give outlet to the panic beginning to well up inside her.
Alex stood, but made no move to follow her.
“It’s not your fault,” she mumbled.
Dear God, compromised. She searched her memory for what Mrs. Summers had told her of girls who had the misfortune of becoming compromised. She’d only half listened at the time. It simply wasn’t a concern when you were often the only English-speaking woman within hundreds, even thousands of square miles.
“I’ve been compromised,” she repeated thoughtfully. “But not ruined. I need only marry to set things right, and to my knowledge there’s no rule stating whom I must marry. I’ll simply ask Sir Frederick when we return.”
“Sir Frederick?” Alex was too surprised to point out the glaring holes in her plan.
“Of course. He’s perfect.”
“Of course,” Alex mimicked.
“He can give me Whitefield, and I can give him a respectable marriage…to a woman.”
Alex didn’t pretend to not understand her meaning. “How is it you know about Sir Frederick?”
“Mirabelle told me. It was her idea to put him on the list. Although, I believe it was Evie who came by the information originally.”
“Good Lord,” Alex muttered. “William should have hired those two girls. They would have ferreted out Loudor’s secrets months ago.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Sophie, Sir Frederick will not agree to marry you. He wants a bride who will repel scandal, not invite it, and a young woman who has been compromised by another man does not fit the description of a respectable bride.”
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Unfortunately for you, Sir Frederick isn’t a beggar. He’s wealthy and immensely popular. He’ll have no difficulty securing some open-minded widow in need of the financial security a union with him would provide.”
Sophie thought about that for a moment, then—“Damn it!”
She returned to pacing the room, ranting in a language Alex didn’t understand. He let her rave a while, which he felt was rather good of him, considering it was a reaction garnered from his marriage proposal. What he really wanted to do was clamp a hand over her mouth. Finally, when he felt she had cooled off sufficiently, he took a deep breath and tried reasoning with her again.
“We must marry.” Very well, it wasn’t reasoning, but she was so blasted stubborn and—
“No.”
Alex had used up his store of patience. “Why the hell not?”
“Don’t swear at me.”
“You must be joking. You swore at me not five minutes ago.”
“I wasn’t swearing at you. I was swearing at….”
“The situation?” he offered caustically.
She answered him with a scowl.
“Answer my question: Why not?”
She wanted to shout, Because I love you! And then she wanted to cry. If he ever loved her in return, the price to be paid would be too high.